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Real Men’s Journal Part 11
SUBJECT 56 PERSONAL JOURNAL
~DAY ???~
COACH came back today. He’s not MY COACH anymore, but he is still a COACH. He put us through the ringer. Mile run, pull-ups, weights, you name it. Course, we crushed it. Me n’ the bros. My BIG MUSCLE bros. Just kept calling me bro so much, I let it go. Too much work tryin’ to tell em my name, ya know? We’re all in this together anyways, so we’re all bros.
Coach brought some newbie. Said we’d be put against him for our tests. Wut wuz the guy’s name again? Brook? Wookie? Uh … Rookie? Yeah, Rookie. Think that was it. Wish he’d just get a number. Numbers are easier to remember. 100. 56. 13. You know. Numbers. Numbers are better to remember. So uh … does that mean they’re better than names? Maybe? I guess. Hard to think. So hard to think. It hurts. I just wanna BLANK OUT. LET GO. Forget about that stupid test.
What test? You know, the one with the numbers and all the hard questions on science and shit. It was so fucking stupid. I told COACH so when I turned it in. He just laughed! I wanna punch him in the face so bad. The jackass. I just wanna hit and keep on hitting and bashing and tackling and wresting and … and … fight. It’s good to fight. The more I fight, the clearer my head. Don’t have to think. Just let it all go. And … I feel good when I do it. Like I’m GROWing. Getting SWOLE. Have to go. Time to fight. Then we lift weights. The others said something about a special surprise. Said I’d enjoy it. Doubt I will more than my bulge. Or my muscles. Just can’t help but FLEX and grin a STUPID grin every time. It comes so easy. Just FLEX and grin and BULGE and SWELL. Can’t hold back much longer. Gotta fight. Wrestle. WIN!
DOCTOR’S BRO LOG
~April 20th~
BIG FUCKIN’ ROOKIE (You know it)
‘Sup, bros? So yeah, I took that test COACH told me to take. He had me sit in front of some screen first, just sorta look at it while it flashed in my face. Said it’d help me fit in more if I uhhh … rewrote my language synapses? I … think that’s wut he said. Hell if I know. I just LISTEN like a good JOCK, like a good ROOKIE should. A ROOKIE LISTENs to his COACH and let’s face it, that’s what I am to COACH. I’m his ROOKIE and he’s my COACH. I like it that way. Makes things simpler. DUMBs things down. DUMB. Yeah …
Uh … wut wus I saying again? Been spellin kinda funny lately too. But COACH says I have to act the part. Just like the rest of them. So uh … yeah, I been doin’ that. You know, spying and all that. Collecting STATS. Making GAINS. Getting SWOLE. Every once in a while, COACH has me watching that screen. Every few days. Keeps me FOCUSed. FOCUS on the screen. FOCUS on MUSCLE. I’m watchin’ it now, actually. So easy to just BLANK OUT and LISTEN as I FOCUS. FOCUS on GROWing. FOCUS on the screen. FOCUS on words. FOCUS on SPIRAL. Flashing. Swirling. Down. Down. Down.
Yes, sir. Write what I say. Write what I see. Repeat.
I LISTEN.
I OBEY.
Love my MUSCLES. Yes, sir. MUSCLES are good. MUSCLES are great. MUSCLES mean everything.
Everything GROWS. BIGGER MUSCLES means BIGGER BULGE.
Yes, sir. I love my BULGE. Love my MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Want to make it BIGGER.
Everything GROWs. I FOCUS on GROWing. Everything goes into my body.
Put my brain into my body. Yes, sir. Brains go to MUSCLE. Brains go to BULGE. Brain turn to BRAWN.
I OBEY.
I forget.
I OBEY.
I LIFT.
I OBEY.
I train.
I OBEY.
LISTEN.
OBEY.
JOCK.
OBEY.
CONFORM.
OBEY.
Don’t think.
OBEY.
Don’t question.
OBEY.
I don’t think. I OBEY. I don’t question. I OBEY.
OBEY my COACH.
ROOKIE obeys COACH.
COACH says FOCUS on sports. COACH says LOVE sports. I OBEY COACH.
I love sports.
Yes, JOCKs love sports. I love sports.
JOCKs love MUSCLE. I love MUSCLE.
JOCKs love bulge. I love my bulge. My MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE.
JOCKs OBEY COACH. I OBEY COACH.
JOCKs LIFT weights. I LIFT weights.
JOCKs get SWOLE. I get SWOLE.
Yes … JOCK. Becoming a JOCK.
More like a JOCK.
JOCKs work out. I work out.
Work out. JOCK out.
COACH trains JOCKs.
COACH trains me.
COACH trains me …
COACH turns me.
BIG COACH. Makes BIG JOCK.
COACH turn me. COACH make me.
COACH makes me BIG JOCK.
COACH turns me into JOCK.
COACH trains me into JOCK.
BIG ROOKIE wants to be a JOCK.
BIG DUMB JOCK as DUMB as rocks.
WEIGHTS and MUSCLE fill my head.
I’m BIG FUCKIN’ ROOKIE. Old doc is dead.
BIG shot doc to BIG FUCKIN’ JOCK.
BIG ROOKIE will report.
BIG ROOKIE will practice.
BIG ROOKIE OBEYs.
Just like the others.
Just like a JOCK.
Will remember nothing when I wake.
Yes, sir, COACH.
BIG ROOKIE OBEYs.
…
Lights out. Time to sleep. COACH says. I’ll tell ya about the test later. Night, BROs.
~June 24th~
‘Sup, BROs? Been a few days. Hard to write when there’s so much PUMP to get on, ya know? Been hangin’ out with my new BROs. We do everything together. LIFT together. PUMP together. TRAIN together. TRAIN with COACH. They don’t talk much. Hard to get em to start. But I’m getting’ used to it. Better at it. They like to flex a lot. Talk about their MUSCLEs. Admire their BULGE. Hell, I get in line with them, start to pose, I lose track of time. Watching my PUMP. My ABS. My fucking HUGE six-pack. My SWOLE biceps. … My BULGE. My MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Straining my JOCK strap. GROWing BIGGER. Feels so fucking good. Uh … wut wus I talking about again? I forget. But … I don’t mind. Huh.
Bin growin’ like a fuckin badass last few weeks. Feels so good. I feel … younger. So fucking heavy though. I could totally take anyone. Been thinkin’ bout wrestling. Guys do it all the time. 56 is champion right now. Think I’m SWOLE? Bros, he’s a FUCKING GIANT! Every time I’m near him I just sort of … BLANK OUT. I come to, we’re lifting. He’s spotting, and I’m rock hard. I smile. I don’t know why. He just looks dazed. His BULGE GROWs. My BULGE GROWs. And we both just smile. I’m still smiling. My BULGE is still growing. So much pl … pl … uh … can’t think of the word. Just … feels good. Real gud. Fuzzy up top. Getting fuzzier. But … I like it.
I wus gonna tell ya somethin’. Uh … lemme think a bit. Hard to think. SO hard. So fucking hard. So horny. All the time. Gives me an edge when I work out. I love working out. Love to GROW and SWELL my MUSCLES with my MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Built like a FUCKING tank.
Built to FIGHT.
Built to LIFT.
Built to GROW.
Built to OBEY.
Yes, sir, COACH.
I’m your MAN, COACH.
Your young MAN.
Your boy.
Spy boy.
JOCK boy.
Your JOCK boy.
Time to LIFT.
I LIFT for COACH.
I GROW for COACH.
I OBEY COACH.
~June 30th~
Took a retest for COACH. Said the results were lost. I was pissed, but COACH said I had to to avoid suspicion. Test was so fucking BORING! I just stared at the page and I couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t stop thinking about the GYM. About that PUMP surging through me. So much. Made it hard. Hard to think. Do I … even want to anymore? I don’t know. … Don’t know anything.
I wus gonna tell ya about that test, right? The first 1? I did pretty gud on it. Guys were jealous. Got out of the test early. I fucking crushed it AND the fitness exam. Wus a little harder first time, but retest wuz E Z. Exercises were nothing. COACH says I did gud. Makes me happy. COACH just laughed. The others. Guess I know how they feel now. BROS belong in a GYM, not a class. Desks are too fucking small. Felt too close. No room to stretch. No room to FLEX. How do those nerds stand it? How did I stand it? I don’t burn fucking bunsons, I burn calories. Gotta get SWOLE with my MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Each time I say that. Each time I write it. My head feels fuzzier. And I want 2 wurk out.
Spelling’s not 2 gud anymoar, but that’s O.K. BROs don’t mind. Don’t have a mind. I’m a BRO too. So … I don’t have a mind? Let me … th … th … fuck, head’s all fuzzy. Gotta … can’t … LIFT. Gotta LIFT. So DUMB. Can’t do nuthin’ else. Won’t do nuthin’ else. Just LISTEN to COACH. LIFT for COACH. OBEY COACH. Cause I’m a good JOCK boy.
SUBJECT 56 PERSONAL JOURNAL
~DAY ???~
I am the fucking KING! Aint no one can touch me. They try, I WRESTLE them til they SUBMIT. Every time I win I feel BIGGER. BUFFER. SWOLE.
My BROs respect me. Call me Q.B. Even get to help Lil’ BROs adjust. Plug em into their ear buds n’ listen with ‘em. They don’t mind so much after the first time.
I’m so fucking HUGE. Love my muscles. My bulge. Just posing in front of the mirror. Workin’ with the new guys. This one guy, Rookie, he’s pretty legit. COACH said he’s been trainin’ on fast track. Dunno Y, but I can’t stop trainin’ with the guy. Build him up. Make him SWOLE. BIG n’ DUMB. Just like me. I didn’t like it at first, ‘specially when I failed COACH’s test. Then I got used to it. Just sorta went numb up there. Numb n’ DUMB. Hey, that’s catchy. COACH says my I.Q. is down. I say screw I.Q. Who the hell needs it?
I want 28. I want Kevin. I miss him. COACH sez I’ll see him again soon if I TRAIN real hard. Sez he’s WEIGHTing for me. WEIGHTing at the final phase, whatever the fuck that is. COACH sez we’re nearly there. Me’n the team. Got some more shit 2 watch’n listen 2. COACH sez we graduate after phase 3. Then we gotta choose sumpthin’. Final play, I guess. Days have bin hard 2 keep track of. We moved to underground. Don’t see the sun much. Don’t really wanna anymore. I’m actually pretty happy here. Things’re smooth, like my reps. Get up, shower, LISTEN to COACH. Scan. Eat. Wurk out. Zone out. JOCK out. Showur agen. Scan. Eat. Wurk out. Listen to COACH. Eat. Showur. Scan. GROW. Sleep. Repeat.
Balls itch so much. More I scratch em’ the bigger they feel. That fucking weight between my fucking legs, like a bull, BRO. A HUGE fucking bull, ready to charge. Smash. Beat. FUCK! Head’s so dizzy. Can hardly rite. Barely reed. But … that don’t matter much, does it? I’m fucking HUGE. I do wut I want. But uh … wut do I want? I … I don’t know anymore. Don’t know. Don’t know anything. Just … weights. Clacking. Clanking. Wrestling. Grappling. Fight. Burn. GROW. GROWin’s gud. GROWin BIG. BIG balls. BIG dick. BIG bulge. BIG MUSCLES. BIG me. BIGgur is DUMBur. And I’m fucking MASSIVE! A MASSIVE, MANLY MAN with a MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Can’t wait for fase 3. COACH tells me I want it. COACH sez I need it. Need to be a BIG DUMB JOCK. Need to OBEY. Want to OBEY. Want to be a BIG DUMB JOCK for COACH.
Huhuhuh. Funny word, DUMB. Makes my mouth feel all teengly. Sounds funee 2. DUMB. DUMB. So fucking DUMB. All I become, so fucking DUMB. Time to scan. Then I wurk owt.
~DAY ???~
‘Sup. Over seven feet tall now. Weigh like … fucking four hundred’r sumpthin’. Owtgrew my clothes. COACH gave me nu 1s. Thair sooper tight. Cling to my bangin’ bod. COACH sez I luk gud. COACH sez I should lyk em. Ges I do. They make me feel gud. Tingly. COACH even put my name on it. 56. In fucking HUGE numburs, lyk me. COACH sez he was real happy wen I wrote it on his test. Dunno Y he made me take it agen, but he wuz happy so that’s all that maturs.
I look like 100 now. Like my BIG BRO. It made me smyl. COACH sez I’m gonna make it BIG in sports. I believe him. I just wanna LIFT n GROW n wrestle n tackle. Feels so gud wen I do. Like a real man. A real JOCK. COACH sez I’m so gud, he wants me to help the noobs. So I bin doin’ that. Bringin’ shakes n’ helpin them lift. You know, make ‘em my lil BROS. Make em TUFF. Make em BUFF. Get em SWOLE. Bring out their iner JOCK. COACH sez I gotta make em all like me. Some try 2 fite. I just put em’ in a sleeper hold, TACKLE em’ to their bed, then plug in their headphones. They try 2 pull em out, so I hold their teenee toothpick arms 2gethur. Lil’BROs struggle for a bit, then they just sorta go limp. The rest of the lil’BROs join me n’we chant with em. Takes a time or 2, but the lil’BROs come round. They start 2 listen to their COACH. The rest happens cuz they see they want it 2. Lil’BROs get SWOLE, like me. GROW that MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Don’t need ta think with the JOCK in control. Just LIFT. GROW. Get fucking SWOLE.
Time 2 LIFT.
~DAY ???~
COACH sez I’m a fucking natural. All my BROs look up to me. I lead em in everything. In the showers. LIFTin’ weights. OBEYing COACH. Just followin’ orders, ya know? Don’t need nuthin’ else.
COACH sez time for football. Can’t fucking wait to SMASH those fucking pansies to dust. The nerds call me Supreme Ky. I told em the name’s gay, asked em to call me Super Ky instead. They got into it after a few uh … persuasions from me n’ my fist. Give em a few throws n’ they fall in line real quick. I love knocking the nerd outta them. They call me Q.B. Then they bulk up. Then they’re with us in faze 2 with our MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Learning to OBEY the playbook. And LISTEN to COACH. Have to go. COACH is calling. COACH sez report now. Sure thing, COACH. I OBEY. I’m your JOCK. I’m your Q.B. 56 reporting for duty. 56 is part of the TEAM. 56 is yours. Let’s play some fucking ball.
~DAY ???~
NUMBER 56 reporting.
56 is redee.
56 is MASSIVE.
56 is 1 with the TEAM.
56 is all for COACH.
56 lives for COACH.
56 OBEYs his COACH.
56 is COACH’s boy.
56 is COACH’s JOCK.
MASSIVE, BURLY, BIG DUMB JOCK.
56 is just a JOCK.
56 is BRAWNY JOCK.
56 is just a JOCK.
56 is perfect JOCK.
56 is COACH’s JOCK.
…
…
…
56 is redee for faze 3.
Real Men’s Journal Part 12
Here it is, folks, the final chapter in our great meathead odyssey. It’s been quite the ride, and I’m glad to have shared this piece with you, grammatically flawed though it is (I was too lazy to go back and edit, after I’d learned how. :P). So, I hope you all enjoyed the characters. And don’t worry. Coach Stone will be back soon enough, with a new bevy of obedient meatheads at his beck and call. You’re not gonna want to miss it. ;)
MASSIVE MANLY BRO LOG
BIG FUCKING ROOKIE
~July 15th~
Bin workin’ hard every day. Wurkin’ for COACH. He put me with 56. Super Ky. He’s the fucking best partner a guy culd ask for when he LIFTS his WEIGHTS. COACH asks ‘bout 56 all the time in the showurs. I LISTEN to him there. Sit back. Report. OBEY. COACH sez higher-ups want me 2 stay. Keep watching 56. Keep working with him. Watch him GROW. GROWING’s gud. GROWING BIG. GROWING BRAWN. GROWING BUFF. GROWING BULGE. GROWING SWOLE. GROW 2 fit his DUMB JOCK role. They say I can leave after. I’m … not sure I want 2.
I luk at 56 and I feel … jelus. He’s so BIG. BIGgur than me. And I can’t stop listening 2 him. Evry1 calls him Q.B., so I do, 2. Cuz, U no. Spy. But … it feels gud when I say it. Lyk when I say I LISTEN to COACH. Makes me feel kinda fuzzee up top. Makes me smyl. The guys LISTEN to him lyk COACH. Lyk we’re a TEAM. Gess the brainwash WURKs. Not on me tho. I’m a spy. I act lyk the rest cuz I have 2. 2 blend. Fit in, ya no? Talk lyk them. Rite lyk them. LIFT lyk them. Act lyk them. Just like COACH sed. Then I report. Report in the showurs. I don’t remember much, but I don’t worry cuz COACH sez not to. Cuz I’m his ROOKIE. He’s my COACH. And ROOKIEs LISTEN to COACH. ROOKIEs OBEY COACH. I OBEY COACH.
I OBEY.
~July 30th~
DUDE! 56 is so fucking ripped! He just shredded his fucking clothes today, man! COACH had to give him new stuff. Sumpthin’ like a … suit of some kind? All black. Two piece. Shorts and top. Looked fam--uh … lyk I seen it B4, ya no? But … can’t think where. Can’t think. Head … 2 fuzzee. I … why? Supposed 2 B spy. But … don’t feel like 1. Feel lyk 1 of the guys. Wut wuz I saying again? So hard 2 think. Gear’s 2 tite. So fucking horny. Can’t concentr8. Feel so hevy. My BULGE … it’s GROWing. I … must record … sounds. COACH sez. … Rite wut I say … GROAN … COACH … wut’s happening 2 me?
Abrams … COACH Abrams … he … he wuz wearing … wut 56 is wearing. They … used 2 be … difrent. More smart. … I used 2 be more smarter 2. GROAN so fucking horny. Can’t think. But … have 2. Sumthin’ about … hypnosis. A … program? Some kinda … trigurr? Oh god it hurts to think. Hurts my dick. My huge … fucking dick. So huge … so DUMB … I … no. Have 2 focus. Sumpthin’ 2 do with my JOCK strap. My … BULGING … straining … BIG DUMB JOCK strap. For BIG DUMB JOCKs. JOCKs lyk 56. JOCKs lyk 28. JOCKs lyk me. Redy 2 snap. … snap. Snap? I … think (god that hurt to rite) has 2 do with snap. Sumpthin’ bout … uh … bout … no turnin’ back. Lyk uh … That’s it! Snap the strap n’ subjects furget! Makes em focus more. Snap the JOCK, unlock the JOCK. Become more JOCK. … Reinforce training. … Uh-oh … Shit, someone must’ve falsi … fals … fal … FUCKING FAKED MY RESULTS! But … who? Why? I wuz a gud JOCK … gud JOCK … SHIT! Didn’t mean 2 rite that.
Gud … gud … so fucking gud. BULGING. GROWING. STRAINING. I feel it. So close. Gonna BUST my fucking JOCK. Be a DUM JOCK. Gud DUM JOCK 4 COACH. Cuz that’s wut I am. All I am. BIG 4 COACH. FLEX 4 COACH. DUM 4 COACH. JOCK 4 COACH. Gud JOCK.
NO!
Can’t break my fucking JOCK if I take it off. Gotta hurry. Can’t let it …
…
…
…
REMOTE ACCESS INITIATED
SYSTEM OVERRIDE AUTHORIZATION CODE ACCEPTED
SYSTEM COMMAND: ACTIVATE RECORDING SYSTEMS
ACTIVATING RECORDING SYSTEMS
“Coach, wut’re you GROAN doin’ here? I … I gotta do something. Please. Go away.”
“I’m sorry, Rookie. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Coach. Please.” The voice catches.
“Just relax, Rookie. I’m right here. Calm down. We’ll work through this together, just like we always have.”
“No, coach, we can’t. I can’t let what happened to Abrams happen to me. I won’t. I can … can still … think. GROAN.”
Easy, Rookie. Let’s not be hasty here.”
“Coach, I’m almost out of time. I have to do this. If I don’t, I’ll … I’ll ...”
“Turn into a muscle head? Grow into a jock? Didn’t you want those things?”
“You knew? You knew what was happening to me?”
“Of course I know. You wanted it to happen. You told me so in our meetings. Don’t you remember?”
“M—meetings …”
“Yes. Our sessions. It was all you could talk about. Growing, getting bigger muscles, your bigger ‘equipment,’ all of it. And you sure as hell loved your new sex life.”
“I’d never … I … I wouldn’t …”
“You would. You did. Hell, you spent half a workout bragging about your conquests. I have your paperwork right here. You signed on to become a part of this program. You wanted this.”
“That’s a lie!”
“That’s the honest to god truth, Rookie. Look at you. Look how you’ve changed. The Process regenerated you. Rejuvenated you. You’re young. And thanks to your latent desires, you’ve unlocked your hidden genetic potential. You’re a perfect physical specimen. A teenager who has yet to hit his peak. Just like you wanted. If you don’t believe me, then read the papers yourself. I have them right here.”
“Why … can’t I remember?”
“Plausible deniability.”
“… What?”
“You volunteered for a new form of the process, a different formula. But you wanted to keep working, too, helping 56 progress. We agreed so long as you could remain professional. But the organization needed to be able to deny any charges you might make while you forgot. And it needed to be able to observe each stage as if you didn’t know about it. So we wiped your memory and left the subconscious commands intact. … I see you still don’t get it. Damn, that stuff works good. Basically, it was so we could say we didn’t do anything bad to you and had no idea what was happening.”
“Why didn’t you just say that?”
“Because it acts as a distraction.”
“Distract—oh crap! Let go of me!”
“Sorry, Rookie, I can’t do that. Not until you’ve finished this phase.”
“Coach, stop!”
“Just let it happen, Rookie. Stop struggling. I know how badly you want this. How much you need this!”
“I need to stop this! I never wanted this! Let go! I don’t wanna be like them! You’re lying, you have to be!”
“Listen to me, Rookie! We know that’s not what you really want. What you need. You need muscle, power, strength. You need to be a jock. Cocky. Powerful. A man. A real man. A massive man with a massive bulge. Can’t you feel that? Feel it straining. Growing. Swelling. Just like your body. You reek testosterone. Why? Because you’re a jock!”
“St—stop it!”
“A huge jock.”
“Coach …”
“A massive, brawny, meathead obsessed with weights.”
“No…”
“You might as well let it happen, Rookie. It’s too late to turn back. You’re my Rookie and I’m your Coach, remember? And a Rookie always listens to his coach.”
“…”
“So listen to me now.”
“… Coach …”
“Just relax and listen to my voice, Rookie. Let it go.”
“Coach …”
“Let it go.”
“… Let it … go …”
“Relax.”
“Y-yes … sir.”
“Good boy.”
“…”
“Can you hear me, Rookie?”
“… Yes.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“… Coach.”
“Do you know who you are?”
A breathy sigh is heard. “Rookie.”
“That’s right. You’re my Rookie.”
“Your Rookie.”
“And Rookies listen to their coach, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, sir. Rookie is listening.”
“Good boy. Everything I say is truth. Understand, Rookie?”
“Yes.”
“You will accept everything I say without question.”
“Yes, sir, Coach.”
“And you’ll obey everything I tell you to do, right?”
“Yes, sir. Rookie listens to Coach. Rookie obeys Coach.”
“Good boy. I’m going to get off of you now. I want you to stand up slowly and not run or do anything else. You’re just going to stand there and listen.”
“… Yes, sir.” There is the sound of shifting bodies and the heavy tromp of cleats on cement.
“That’s a good boy. Now, Rookie, tell me, do you like your muscles? Do you like how much you’ve grown?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You like how easy it is to lift?”
“Yes.”
“And you like watching those muscles grow in the mirror.”
“Yes.”
“You think about weights a lot, don’t you?”
“… Yes.”
“What do you think about most?”
“… Lifting. Getting swole. Muscles. Chicks. My dick. Fuck, It’s so massive. So tight. So … bulgy. Like me. Growing. So big. Fucking huge.”
“*Whistle* That thing is growing pretty fast, isn’t it?”
“*Grunt*”
“Now listen to me, Rookie. You want it to grow. You want to keep growing. Just like your training said.”
“… Yes, sir, Coach.”
“You love your size. You love your body. You love what you’ve become.”
“Love my size … love my body … love what I’ve become.”
“Good boy. Tell me, what is the square root of 81?”
“Uh … Give me a sec.”
“Take your time.”
“I … I know this. I … know … this … *Groan* … god, I can’t think!”
“Relax, Rookie. It’s not a problem.”
“It’s … not?”
“That was a test. You passed. You weren’t supposed to know.”
“I … wasn’t?”
“You don’t care about math, remember? The only time you use it is when you’re focusing on your stats.”
“… Yes. That’s right … I … I don’t care about math. Don’t care …”
“Math is stupid. You said so yourself.”
“Course it’s stupid. Math’s for nerds.”
“That’s right, Rookie. And you’re not much of a nerd anymore now, are you?”
“Fuck no … I mean … maybe a little.”
“*Chuckling* Don’t worry, that won’t last long. All you want is to keep growing.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Growing boy. Growing body. Growing bulge. Growing brawn.”
“Yessssss …”
“Remember what happens the bigger you get?”
“Dumber I get.”
“That’s right. And you want to be big, so …?”
“I wanna be dumb.”
“That’s right. You want to be dumb. You were tired of being smart.”
“Tired of bein’ smart.”
“No room for smarts anymore. All that brain’s being filled with pure muscle. Pure brawn.”
“All muscle. All brawn.”
“That’s right. All those smarts are going to your manhood. Everything. Make you a massive, manly man with a massive, manly bulge.”
“*Groan* Massive, manly man … Massive … manly … bulge …” There is the sound of straining fabric.
“That’s right. You love this feeling. You love being big. And you want more. You always want more.”
“*Grunt* More massive … *Groan* More manly … *Grunt* More bulge.”
“Just like 56.”
“Just like 56.”
“Just like 28.”
“… Just like 28.”
“Just like Abrams.”
“… Just … like … Abrams.”
“Just like a jock.”
“… Just like a jock.”
“Because that’s what you’re becoming: a big, dumb jock. My big dumb jock. And you want that.”
“… Becoming a jock. A big, dumb jock. Want to be a big, dumb jock. … Your big dumb jock, sir.”
“That’s right. Good jock boy.”
“*Groan* Rookie is your jock boy, sir.” A sudden echoing snap breaks across the recording, followed by a deep, dull laughter. “Wanna be a big, dumb jock. Rookie will be Coach’s big, dumb jock. Getting’ buff n’ getting’ swole. I’m big fucking Rookie!” The sound of shredding fabric is heard.
“Big Rookie is right.” The coach’s voice echoes as he laughs. “At this rate, you’ll be ready for phase three in no time.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s get you dressed, Rookie.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Spandex, I think. Something tight to show off your body. Is that alright with you?”
“Fuck yeah. Who wouldn’t wanna see this jock bod?”
“Good jock.”
“Yes, sir, coach. Rookie listens. Rookie obeys.”
END TRANSMISSION
~August 30th~
Been LIFTING like a fucking BEAST, like COACH told me 2.
I see COACH in the showurs. Evury day.
COACH sez I’m speshul.
COACH sez see him 3 tymes a day.
ROOKIES LISTEN 2 COACH.
ROOKIES OBEY COACH.
So I OBEY.
COACH gives me special proteen. Sez it’ll make me SWOLE. I lyk SWOLE. WURKS OUT. I’m Fucking HUGE. BIGGur than 56.
BROS don’t talk much eneemore. Don’t need 2. We LISTEN. We OBEY. We LIFT. We GROW. We SWOLE.
Sum talk, but we GROW ther BULGE. Make them MASSIVE lyk us. They fall in lyn. They JOCK out lyk us. Don’t talk much after that. It’s bettur that way. Easyer 2 LISTEN 2 COACH. Easy 2 OBEY.
56 left. Coach sez he went 2 faze 3.
I’m in charj now.
New clothes feel so fucking gud. Wear em all the time.
Shows off all my MUSCLE.
I am MUSCLE.
MUSCLES do what they’re told.
MUSCLES OBEY commands.
I OBEY.
MUSCLES don’t think.
I don’t think.
MUSCLES GROW wen they WURK OUT.
I GROW wen I WURK OUT.
ROOKIE is MUSCLE.
MUSCLE is ROOKIE.
COACH gave ROOKIE a new name.
ROOKIE is Number O-000.
ROOKIE is Zero becuz ROOKIE is nothing.
Nothing but a JOCK.
A BIG, DUMB JOCK.
ROOKIE is a BIG, DUMB JOCK.
ROOKIE is COACH’s BIG, DUMB JOCK.
ROOKIE OBEYS COACH.
ROOKIE GROWS wen he OBEYS.
GROWS BIG. GROWS DUMB.
ROOKIE is STRONG wen he OBEYS.
ROOKIE OBEYS wen he is STRONG.
ROOKIE OBEYS.
Zero OBEYS.
I OBEY.
OBEY.
OBEY.
…
~September 5th~
Yes, sir, COACH.
ROOKIE is 0
0 OBEYS COACH.
0 does not think.
0 is DUMB.
0 has 0 brains.
0 is DUMB.
0 OBEYS.
0 is MUSCLE.
0 FLEXES.
0 OBEYS.
0 LIFTS.
0 OBEYS.
0 is SWOLE.
0 OBEYS.
0 is BIG.
0 OBEYS.
0 is JOCK.
0 is COACH’s JOCK.
0 is a BIG, DUMB JOCK.
0 OBEYS.
0 GROWS.
0 is MASSIVE MANLY MAN with MASSIVE MANLY BULGE.
0 is just like the TEAM.
0 is 1 with TEAM.
Yes, COACH. 0 will go.
0 OBEYS.
0 will go to faze 3.
0 is redee for faze 3.
ACCESSING SUBJECT 56 FILES
~DAY???~
LIFTING gud.
Thinking bad.
56 wants to LIFT.
COACH sez 56 shuld rite tho.
56 OBEYS.
56 LIFTS with the TEAM.
56 rites with the TEAM.
56 chants with TEAM.
56 is 1 with TEAM.
28 WEIGHTed for 56.
28 and 56 were happee.
TEAM wuz happee.
Now 56 is just lyk 28.
56 and 28 R BROS.
Fucking HUGE.
GROW for COACH.
OBEY COACH.
LIFT.
DUMB.
LIFT.
BIG.
LIFT.
JOCK.
56 doesn’t need recordings.
56 heres COACH all the tym.
56 is part of TEAM.
56 OBEYS with TEAM.
56 doesn’t think.
COACH thinks 4 56.
COACH thinks 4 TEAM.
Yes, sir, COACH. 56 heres.
56 OBEYS.
I am 56.
56 is drone.
56 will GROW TEAM.
JOCK now. JOCK 4ever.
MASSIVE MANLY BULGE.
56 will chant with TEAM.
TEAM is home.
Home is TEAM.
56 is home.
Lyk … wut’s the play, COACH?
SUBJECT O-000
~September 30th~
0 is part of TEAM.
0 WURKS OUT 4 COACH.
0 GROWS 4 COACH.
0 is COACH’S JOCK.
0 is BIG DUMB JOCK with MASSIVE MANLY BULGE.
0 knows his place.
0 is OFFENSE.
0 FIGHTS.
0 makes BROS.
0 OBEYS.
0 will make JOCK BROS.
0 will GROW the TEAM.
0 will be COACH’s point guard.
0 will be assistant COACH.
0 OBEYS.
END TRANSMISSION
RESEARCH NOTES: OMEGA PROJECT FORMULA
C.E.O. SIGN IN: VICTOR STONE
The program has been hitting some snags of late. Those with a high enough I.Q. have been able to resist The Process to the point where some have been able to hold on for several months to their original psyches. This was unacceptable. So, of course, I had to fix it.
Number 56, formerly known as Kyle Matthews was the last straw. Abrams had been failing for too long. He was too sympathetic, too gentle. I fixed that. Now he’s the most aggressive offensive lineman you’ll ever meet. As for 56, well, I simply pushed him in the right direction. Even with my skills though, the boy was still surprisingly resilient. It took me too long to break him for comfort. I immediately authorized initialization for The Omega Project.
This new and improved formula for The Process is specially designed for the higher I.Q. It drops the test subject down to a basic grunt. I called in Doctor Seroyan for testing and gave him his own office. Little did he realize the special ingredients I included in his food and drink. He didn’t take long to show signs of change. Within the month, he was already beginning to crack. The subliminals from the lights helped of course, but a lot of it had to come from the treatment itself. Notes from my other workers revealed similar results in isolated test subjects throughout the compounds.
I got him hooked on working out and the rest was history. I kept conditioning him alongside 56 so they could interact when the time came. I wanted to see if I could incorporate him into the system without him knowing. After all, that’s the whole point of the Omega Formula. That, and of course, it breeds a stronger, more obedient jock drone. Best of all, it’s completely undetectable. Seroyan became my subject zero. And he’s perfectly happy fitting his new role as my personal assistant. I’ve given him free reign over 56’s team while I’m away and designated a new coach to keep tabs on him while I’m gone. I’ve given specific orders not to interfere, though. Omega Zero has potential to be a great coach once I’ve taught him how. Until then, I’m having him run over exercises with the team as they practice and play their programmed sport. More than a few of them are going to enter the N.F.L., that’s for sure. I love seeing my boys making me money.
We’ve come such a long way from when my project first began. I’m so glad I blew up my lab all those years ago. Hell, the results were definitely worth it. I still haven’t been able to fully replicate the accident that made me this way, but that doesn’t matter much. I like being the alpha. And once I got our investors to try my … unique product, they were happy to fall in line. They signed over ownership to me, obviously, and pursued their own careers in their respective muscular fields. I still get a monthly check from them after they’ve won a big competition or something along those lines.
Next phase will be accelerating the process. I want to have nigh instant results. When I’m not working as a personal coach for my jock force, I get back to the lab to work with the boys on progression. Now that we’ve found a compound that breaks past the I.Q. barrier, it’s only a matter of time. Soon enough, I’ll be everybody’s coach in a perfectly healthy, masculine muscleman society. I can’t wait.
Muscle Cab
“Often referred to as an illness, what do you call the process by which a person undergoes a metamorphosis into a familiar gym stereotype?” the driver asked as they came to another light. The lights in the ceiling continued to flicker and pulse in a series of slow patterns ranging from ripples to spirals and more. The two passengers leaned close to each other to council over the matter. “I totally read a series about this,” the first whispered. “Chad, we already missed two questions.” The second passenger yawned. “I don’t know if ... if ... uhhh....” He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Damn, lost my train of thought.” “What’s to lose, Brett?” Chad asked. “Our smarts,” Brett countered. Chad rolled his eyes and let out a longsuffering sigh. “Brett, that can’t happen in real life. That’s for fiction.” He wiped his sweaty brow, oblivious to the stubble that had begun to grow in on his chin and upper lip. Brett’s head lolled and bobbed like a cork on water as his jaw slackened and his eyes became glassy. “Who’s Fiction...?” he asked in a low voice. Chad’s eyes darted over to his sleepy friend, then back at the driver. Bright white teeth were borne in a grin through the rear view mirror. “Would you care for a visual aid?” the driver asked. The strobes were getting brighter, faster. “Uhhhhh....” Brett’s head bobbed on a sudden speed bump. “All right, then!” the cabby boomed excitedly. “Turn your attention to your screens, and watch.” The screens flashed to life, first portraying the image of a smaller young man with a hint of a pudge and glasses. In a matter of seconds, that image morphed into a new shape. The boy’s torso was flat now, and he’d begun to gain some muscle definition. Next, the image morphed to show the kid wearing compression gear as he pumped a set of dumbbells. Veins had begun to bulge on his arms, and his face had become more defined and angular. His once longer hair had been cut back to bare stubble. Then it transitioned to the final stage, where a complete muscle stud stood with a vapid grin, posing for the camera. His chest was bare for all to see the chiseled six-pack and swollen pectorals. A bulge pressed at the crotch of his compression pants, and his legs were like carved marble slabs. His trapezius muscles had expanded to the point where they curved over his broad shoulders and transitioned smoothly into the deltoids and other muscle groups farther down the arms. Chad panted as a sudden wave of warmth washed over him. The cab felt so small. His head kept spinning. “Ten seconds, boys.” A gleaming trickle ran down from the corner of Brett’s mouth as he took deep, steady breaths and stared unseeingly at the screen. “Brett? Come on, man. This isn’t the time for sleeping.” He grabbed his friend’s arm. FLASH went the strobes. Chad’s mouth dropped open. His hands recoiled as his eyes widened and his pupils slowly began to expand, rather than contract as they adjusted to the lights. “What the fuck?” he whispered. “Five seconds,” the cabbie lowed. Brett’s arm swelled. His skin tightened as a vein began to snake its way along the anterior compartment of his forearm. His shirt creaked and strained as his shoulders began to expand and his frame grew inexorably out from his place behind the driver’s seat. “G-get me out of here! Let me off. I don’t wanna play anymore!” “What’s the matter, big shot?” the driver asked in a menacing tone. “Don’t know the answer?” He sneered. “Four....” Brett’s hands rested over his crotch as his body slumped back and his eyes began to close. Chad’s breathing grew labored. “I ... I don’t wanna be a meathead!” “Should’ve thought of that when you agreed to the game, kid,” the cabbie purred. “Three...” Everything began to slow as the rapid thumping of his heart matched the rapid strobe of the lights. Come on, Chad. Think! he thought. The door handle was locked, and he couldn’t engage the window. He pounded his fists against the window, but to his horror, his arms swelled with every blow. Even his pectorals puffed up as he tensed and released them. “Two...” The number crawled through the air, like a cheap movie sound effect. Only Chad knew he wasn’t in a movie. His cheeks flushed. He felt a sudden mass pressing between his thighs. He looked at his crotch as the bulge swelled. His eyes darted to the transitioning images and he gasped as he watched the same swelling taking place in the subject on screen as the photo morphed. Please. Please, God. No... No. N-- FLASH “One.” The voice was so slow, he could hardly understand it. His face, once contorted in anguish, now lay slack. His eyes, once alive with fear, now stared unerringly at the screen. His pupils dilated farther. “Uhhhh.....” “Zero.” A loud snap sound effect coincided the final flash as the panels died and Chad’s head slumped back automatically. His arm touched Brett’s, and Chad’s growth accelerated dramatically. Tears shredded through the air, coinciding with the loud pops of reinforced seams bursting, all while their arms, torsos, and legs inflated with dense muscle. The driver chuckled as the lights on the walls pulsed a dull white and the tattered remnants of his passenger’s clothing reassembled into a pair of tank tops: gray for Chad, blue for Brett. A darker tan suffused Brett’s skin with a healthy glow, while his hair retreated into his scalp to leave a simple buzz cut. Every piece of exposed skin was smooth, not a hair in sight. A pair of bluejeans manifested on Brett, while a set of black gym shorts appeared on Chad. “Sorry, gentlemen, but the answer was Meatheadosis.” The driver chuckled to himself as he watched his handiwork settle in. A few minutes later, he nudged the men. “We’re here, Sirs.” The two newly reborn men slowly came to and grumbled. “Uh ... wuh?” Chad lowed in a dull bass. “We’re here,” the cabby said again. A large gym stood outside with the illuminated figure of a muscular man flexing both arms on either side of his head as his legs spread out to brace him. The words Meathead Oasis glowed dully, and the A of Oasis flickered. “You didn’t win, but hey, you got a free ride. And besides that, as a consolation prize, the both of you get a month’s free gym membership.” He handed both men a gift certificate. “Have fun, boys.” Two identical grins widened on the boys’ faces. “Fuck yeah!” they roared together and slapped their hands in a high five. “Thanks, bro,” Brett said happily as they hauled their much larger frames out of the back seat. “Don’t worry about it. You two have a great day. Get a sweet pump for me.” “Huhuh. You’ve got it,” Chad guffawed. Then he slammed the door shut and the two advanced on the gym’s doors.The driver turned toward the hidden camera mounted by the rear view mirror. “These two failed, but you never know who might succeed to win that big money prize. Find out next time, folks, on the Muscle Cab, brought to you by Meathead Industries. See you then.”He winked, then turned off the camera.
Cliqued into Place: A Patreon Preview
This story is rated mature due to cursing. You can find the full story on my Patreon in the $5 tier. Credit for this image goes to @morphedcocks
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“How…? Why does it taste so good?” Once more, his voice cracked. This time, he didn’t clear his throat.
“Cause protein shakes’re sweet, bro.”
“Best whey to make sweet gains, bro. Huhuhuh.”
CLANK
Huhuhuh. Huhuhuh. Huhuhuh…. That same dull laugh seemed to come from everywhere.
It wasn’t funny. It was so stupid. Literally a Dad joke. And yet…. Why was his mouth twitching? Why did his jaw suddenly feel sore? Why was his chest all tingly?
“Fuck, bro. That was bad. That joke was bad—”
The creature rose from the depths like a great blue whale, its ascent slow and steady at first until it broached the surface. “And you should—” Then, unable to be held back, it bellowed like an effusive belch. “—feel bad.”
Was that … his voice? Or was it just a trick, some reverb or software in the helmet that kicked in after sampling his voice to make it sound lower in his ears? Maurice didn’t have long to think about it.
The one who made the joke smiled along with Maurice. And that smile kept on, even as he delivered his terrible counterblow. “Just for that, you’re doin’ leg lifts before we undo the rest, bro.”
Leg lifts? Really?
“That, or you can stay there and listen. We got time.”
“Listen to what—”
CLANK
“—BRO?” Maurice’s eyes widened, even as he shuddered. That … that had come out of him. But, … he didn’t mean to say it. Bro talk was for brutes like Tim and Bryce, not for—
CLANK
Not for—
CLANK
Not … for….
CLANK
…
Thump
The vibration carried up Maurice’s legs while the two big brutes looked on, their cocky smirks almost as broad as their backs and cannonball delts. Meaty veined arms folded over massive, nigh-identical chests. Their eyes were still a mystery, obscured by the visors of their own headgear, doubtless a mirror to what Maurice had so firmly placed on his own head.
He could almost hear the subtle creaking of a hinge, the tautness of a pulley as the subtle release of pressure from gravity granted a few precious seconds of agonizing buildup before the next
CLANK
Creak
CLANK
A wave of dizziness struck now. His head rolled like a buoy on an ocean swell.
Huhuh. Swell….
His breathing felt … funny, labored. And his shirt felt … tight. And kinda cold?
As the creaking built up again, he looked in an unreal sense of bemused detachment at the two throbbing masses of flesh that stood straight as a board. They looked so ridiculous, so pumped and loaded down with the sheer weight of corded mass rippling while his core burned.
CLANK
Thump
They were out of sight.
Creak
Strain. They were there again as he huffed and puffed, his mouth seemingly refusing to close, almost as if he had forgotten how….
CLANK
Thump
How to….
Creak
Pop! Pop! RIIIiiiiip!
Cold on his thighs. The pants on the funny legs were breaking, drooping to reveal the sculped flesh quivering beneath.
“Atta bro.” The twin voices rang in unison, and Maurice felt his head spin as his eyes rolled in a mix of dazed confusion and sheer, blazing ecstasy.
CLANK
Thump
Pop-Pop!
Ch-Ch-ChhhhrrrrriiIIIIIiip!
Smack-Smack!
Creak.
“UUUuuuuhhhhHhhhhh….” The groan warbled and thrummed with the steady, heavy beating of his heart hammering in his head. This time, the tatters were gone, replaced with a tight white sheath of nylon and spandex that hid nothing of the mesmerizing display of swollen pumped muscle rippling and coming to rest like the crash of waves on a shore. The tattered remnants of his now burst shoes sloughed off, leaving bulging feet and toes behind that strained against the confines of the socks that were barely holding on in the fight to keep the monsters contained. He could almost picture the state of their soles, creaking and straining, made dark by the repetitive impact against the old soles of the shoes that had once contained them.
“Fuck, bro,” Maruice heard one of them exclaim.
“Bro,” the second brute echoed.
Not bro. Something in Maurice shied away from that, cringing and whimpering. He didn’t want bro, but—
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck….” He could live with that. They’d said it so many times already, and he hadn’t been bothered by it. And … the situation did call for it, right? His head was feeling so messed up. And … he was all bound and shit, right? So he could totally curse himself out if he wanted to.
Nobody would judge him for it, right bro-ooohhhh no! He wouldn’t … fall into the brutes’ bro talk that easily. But … damn, that did feel good.
The burning in his core and thighs dulled and pulled away, retreating to concentrate in—
Creak
“Oh, Fuck,” the word drew out in another mighty expulsion. And in response, something began to swell.
CLANK
Thump
Creak
“Fuck.”
CLANK
Thump
Creak
“Fuck.”
This was my roommate Ian 3 weeks ago. He was a pretty good guy, funny, always upbeat, and a great roommate actually. Both of us are gay, but mutually not into each other- making the living situation drama free. As Ian put it, we were both our own gay stereotype. Ian was the twink- dancing up a club till 3am, throwing around sharp sassy humor, and strutting around in colored briefs with colored drinks. Meanwhile to him I was simply the “muscle bro.”
Our unique characters were all well and good but sometimes I just wanted a simple bro around, a dude who’d drink a beer and watch sports with me not just stream endless Bravo. Or a gym partner to pump weights with not just pass time on the elliptical. So I decided to make some changes around the apartment- and by changes I mean breakfast. Everything starts with the right breakfast- especially when the recipes come from the Jocking Manual.
Ian wasn’t really a morning guy. Dancing till 3am or 4am he rarely left bed on the weekends before noon. But I insisted one weekend that I’d make him breakfast and he’d wake up right. He grumbled- but next day I got up early and started on the pancakes. They have their own irresistible smell and sure enough Ian eventually crawled out of room to sleepily sit at the table. He just had a few small bites that first day but he had to admit there were good and that was enough to get things started.
As each day passed I started watching improvements with pride. He started getting up a little earlier, catching me in the morning to get a plate of pancakes or a little eggs, and then even going for some bacon. By day four he finally caved and joined me for a gym session. He still insisted on cardio work but eventually he joined me at the bench and he caught on to a routine. He even started showing interest in ESPN, watching some football with me although he mostly just commented on which player he’d wanna be fucked by. But by the way he adjusted his shorts I could tell his equipment was undergoing some of its own upgrades. Two weeks in I figured I could take things up a few levels and I went all out on breakfast. Pancakes, eggs, fruit, ham… He was apprehensive by the spread the next morning but after one bite and he was hooked, wolfing down serving after serving.
The rest of the day he was on fire, ignoring the treadmill completely to max out on deadlifts, bench and bicep curls. Back at the apartment he stayed shirtless, his bony skinny frame on full display, as he switched on tonight game voluntarily. As we watched I could see every one of his thin overworked muscles contract and expand ever so slightly and I smirked as he absentmindedly cupped a hand around his arm and flexed.
Next morning the changes were on a whole other lever. He appeared early at the table eager for food wearing a tank top I never knew he had. His arms had swollen into meaty baseball mounds and chest had thickened into two actual toned pecs. Stubble wrapped around his sharper jawline and even his voice had lost some of its sing-song pitch and dropped a little. “Yo check it out? who’d believe I had abs?” He smirked before excitedly digging into food.
I could’ve left him like that. His boyish charm mixed with a buff lean body and scruff on his chin. He still had some of that clever sassy charisma aaaand he was hot. And ultimately that was a problem.
That day at the gym I had a hard time not eyeing his new body as we flexed through each set. He had a cocky smirk plastered on his face that I’d never seen him have before and the bulge straining his now small tight shorts left nothing to the imagination. I could tell he liked the attention. Sure enough in the showers he slipped into my stall asking for some “help with the soap”. We had a roommate pact to never fuck but… fuck he got hot. One fuck session in the showers turned into a continuous night of dirty horseplay at home, made even hotter by the fact that with every thrust into his round bubbly ass I could feel his body get harder.
That week the sex and the workouts were non stop. But I could tell Ian’s interest was wavering as his attitude was becoming incrementally more alpha. A few days went by and I saw him come out of a shower stall proudly followed by a skinny gym bunny limping to grab a towel. Ian just gave me a wink as he swaggered back to his locker, his half hard meat swinging between his legs. Better finish what I started.
I kept on serving up my special pancakes. Adding on some special cream and unique powdered sugar to keep things on track. Just like that his arms quickly started to seriously swell. His chest and shoulders put on more mass making his old shirts way too small for his bulking frame. He started borrowing my cut off muscle tees and tanks, and then some jock straps- no doubt for a cock that was fattening into a full on a monster. He started loosing some his sassy cleverness, gaining a slow dumb chuckle as his voice grew even deeper and slow. After a week the old Ian was completely gone. “Eat up bro, need our macros- we gotta bulk this month” as he grinned dumbly flexing in front of the mountain of breakfast he made. I seriously had the perfect room mate.
